


Slightly Less Sinister

by riotcow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2155671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riotcow/pseuds/riotcow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione receives an offer from Lucius Malfoy to switch sides, and decides to take him up on it as an opportunity to get information. She convinces Snape to help her "prepare" for what's coming, and receives quite an education at his hands. This fic gets quite dark in deliberately exploring the dynamics of abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Probably written in 2005.

"Get out," snarled Severus Snape, thus ending yet another period of his sixth-year potions class. Rounding on his desk, he dropped the essays that he had just collected on its broad surface - regretting that the sheaf of unbound parchment didn't provide enough mass for a good crack as it landed - and dropped himself into the large carven chair behind it. As usual, he ignored his students, though he was well aware of young Hermione Granger approaching him as her classmates filed out.

He noted that she didn't try to catch his attention until the last of the other students was gone, the door shut behind her. "Professor Snape," she said quietly, but without the tremble that afflicted most of his students when they had need to speak with him individually.

Snape was, of course, scowling as he looked up from his papers, but noted immediately that in spite of Miss Granger's calm voice, her face was dangerously pale and her fingers clutched her books to her chest with a painful tightness that spoke of rigid self-control. His eyes moved over her quickly to assess any other signs of illness, but found none. Neither was Miss Granger the sort to become flustered over the usual student dramas, or to bother her professors unnecessarily. "Yes, Miss Granger?" he asked flatly, tempering his usual blistering tones in the face of her distress, but unwilling to go so far as to seem encouraging.

"I would like to make an appointment to speak to you on a very important matter," she recited carefully, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. While the discipline that she was clearly employing to deal with him casually would have made sense from some of her more easily intimidated peers, Granger was not really this scared of him, he knew. She didn't normally seem comfortable when she had to speak to him, but at the moment she appeared to be fighting terror.

"An appointment?" he asked skeptically, sitting back in his chair. "You're speaking with me now."

She didn't react to the implied rebuke. "I have Charms on the other side of the castle in ten minutes," she replied deliberately. "I wish to be able to explain my request to you adequately." Interestingly, her gaze flickered away from his just as she carefully wrapped her mouth around the word "request."

Severus regarded her for a long moment over steepled fingers. She met his eyes evenly but said no more. He had to admit that she had piqued his considerable curiosity with her uncharacteristic behavior. Finally, he sat forward and picked up the last parchment that he'd been reading when she interrupted him. "Come by after the dinner hour, then. I'll be working," he said distractedly.

He did not look up until he heard Granger slipping out his classroom door, and when he did he again noted the lines of tension drawn throughout her stiffly-held posture.

* * *

Snape was not at the token professor's lectern in his classroom, but rather at his own heavy mahogany desk in the office in the room behind, when Hermione Granger returned as per his instructions. He heard her call his name from the door of the classroom, and in a carrying tone called, "Here," as he let her again approach him while he appeared to be deeply involved in grading.

This time Granger was not carrying any schoolbooks, and she had discarded her school robes - as was allowed after classes - in favor of a blue sweater and casual slacks of some sort. Snape thought that perhaps she was trying to look adult... not too long ago she'd been wearing skirted jumpers under her robes. He let her stand for a moment while he continued reading, then motioned her absently into one of the chairs arranged across from his desk. There she sat, not fiddling a bit, hands folded in stillness on her lap, waiting for his attention.

"Well, Miss Granger," he intoned in a low voice, sitting back in his chair and steepling his long fingers again before him; it was one of his favorite postures. "You have your appointment. I am ready to consider your request."

It was only because he was watching carefully that he noticed her rapid blink after the word request. She had been watching him while he played his little waiting game with her, and Severus suddenly was struck by the oddest notion that she had been sizing him up. A smile nearly tugged at the corners of his mouth. Indeed, she was gauging him carefully now, probably running through frantic last-minute reviews of the speech that he was betting she had prepared.

It did not begin in any way that Snape had expected, however. She said, "I spoke at length with Draco Malfoy's father when he was visiting his son here last month."

Snape's face froze for a moment. "Did you?" he drawled slowly.

"Yes, he took quite an interest in me," Granger replied levelly, looking for all the world as if she knew exactly why the mention of Lucius Malfoy might upset her potions professor. "At first I couldn't imagine why, and when I did, I rather berated myself for not realizing immediately. I am, after all, Harry Potter's best friend." This last was delivered with pure Granger haughtiness.

Snape's mind was fully engaged now, trying hard to anticipate where on earth the girl might be going with this unexpected interview. His habitual response to being at a disadvantage was, of course, to keep his mouth relatively shut and look unsurprised.

"Yes, you are," he agreed with only a trace of his usual snideness.

"I don't know why it is, Professor Snape, that I decided to react as I did. I didn't even really have time to think - there I was, sitting in one of the study rooms, reading, and Draco Malfoy's father sat down opposite me and struck up the most congenial conversation, and yet he practically... oozed... filth." She paused. "I reacted as if I were totally taken with him."

The girl stopped again, this time clearly to think, her gaze becoming unfocused for a moment as she chose words. As Snape clearly didn't need to prompt her - she was intent on coming to some sort of point - he remained utterly silent.

"Actually, I flirted with him," she suddenly added, rather hard and flat, then took a deep breath and continued. "I acted like I was completely, breathlessly overwhelmed at the fact that this big powerful man was paying attention to me. 'Oh, Mr. Malfoy, you must be very clever to have become so powerful,'" Granger mocked herself. "'Oh, Mr. Malfoy, everyone knows your name. I can't believe that you think that I'm somehow special.'"

Suddenly Granger dropped the falsetto, and added in her own voice, gaze fixed on her professor: "'Oh, Mr. Malfoy, I think I'd do anything to someday become half as powerful as you are. Anything.'"

The appointment that had started as a mere curiosity for Snape suddenly became dangerous. He wanted to question her on it, but somehow felt utterly certain that the girl actually understood exactly the implications of the things she was saying. "That was a very risky game you were playing," Snape said softly, in this circumstance unconcerned with his usual habit of never letting a student feel that she was being taken seriously.

"Yes, but of course, I was fairly safe, here at Hogwart's. I was hoping maybe he'd say something... useful. I don't know what about. I quite clearly implied that I'd gotten close to Harry because I thought he'd someday be powerful, but I was now worried the I might turn out to be on the losing side. But anyway, that's what I did. And he ate it up," she added with a faint note of pride.

Snape and his student studied each other carefully. She was still very pale, still held a tight reign on a deep nervousness, but was successfully coming off fairly smoothly. If he was half as good as he believed he was, his own anxiety was better hidden. Slowly he said, "So Lucius Malfoy believes that you're smitten with him, and that you're the sort of slyly ambitious twit that might serve some ends of his. Does that accurately sum up the situation, Miss Granger?"

"Not fully," she replied, then licked her dry lips slowly. "I received an owl from him today. He's invited me to come visit him over the break. His intentions were fairly clear."

Snape considered this carefully. "May I see it?"

She smiled very briefly. "Sorry, no. It disintegrated as soon as I read it. But I remember it word-for-word."

"Repeat it," Snape instructed sharply.

Granger looked like she was about to say something else, then subsided. She stuck her tongue into the corner of her mouth for a second - a habit he'd noticed in class before - while she concentrated, then recited:

 

> _My dear Hermione,_
> 
> _I am pleased to have the opportunity to extend to you an invitation to join me over the coming holiday for a continuation of the delightful conversation that we started at your school. It is clear that a young woman of your insight and talent cannot obtain all of the instruction that might benefit her in such an environment, and I believe that I might help rectify that unfortunate situation. You are, of course, uncommonly mature. If you are ready to begin profiting from the knowledge of that maturity, and to be treated as mature by a man such as myself, then I am prepared to bestow upon you the privileges of such maturity. As we discussed, they are many and great. They are also quite pleasurable, especially to one so thirsty for knowledge as yourself. And for one so beautiful._
> 
> _If you feel equal to such a rewarding path, owl me your interest. I will make all arrangements._
> 
> _Fondest regards, Lucius Malfoy_

Snape stared at his student for a long moment, churning outrage in his stomach, cold calm on his face. She returned the gaze evenly, but her face had only gotten paler during her recital. Her fingers were curled around the arms of her chair.

"You understand what Mr. Malfoy is implying, don't you, Miss Granger?" he asked in a near-whisper. His eyes glittered.

"Perfectly," she replied.

"Why have you come to me with this? You should be speaking with the head of your house, or with the Headmaster himself." Snape kept hearing fragments of Malfoy's disgusting letter echoing in his brain and pushed the horrid words aside.

This time Granger did not take a deep breath before replying... not literally, anyway. He could see her steel herself though.

"I came to you, Professor Snape," she said clearly and slowly, "because I intend to go through with it, and I would like your help."

* * *

"My immediate instinct is that you must be joking, and yet I suspect that you are not. I will give you a chance to explain yourself before taking you up to speak with Professor Dumbledore regarding this matter."

Granger's eyes flashed with determination, and she sat forward in her chair. "I have no illusions as to exactly how dangerous this will be. But you have to see, Professor... Malfoy picked me out because I'm Harry's best friend, and he thinks I'm young and stupid and greedy. But because I am Harry's best friend, and I'm actually smart and loyal, this presents a great chance for us. Think of the advantages we could get from this!"

Snape snapped loudly, "This is out of the question!" Even Granger sat back at the edge in his voice, which he suddenly lowered to a drawl. "Miss Granger, your intentions are admirable, but this is not acceptable. Now -"

"Wait! I haven't made my argument," she insisted hotly.

"Argument?" Snape asked incredulously, sneering. "Argument?"

"Professor Snape, we're at war! And Harry's a prime target, and our best defense. This is a risk that I want to take for the things that I know are right! Who are you to tell me that I can't make an informed decision to put myself at risk for such a valuable payoff? I understand what I'd have to do, and I want to do it... for the payoff. I'm already in the line of fire, just for being close to Harry. At least this way something good can come of it!" The words were tumbling passionately from her mouth, and Snape stared at her with something akin to open amazement. "We'll all have to take risks. It's not like I'll be able to lead a safe life. I just have the opportunity to take a huge one now. I'm trying to be smart about it, to gather the resources and support I'll need to pull it off. But I can pull it off! It's not fair for you or Harry or Professor Dumbledore or anyone else to try to make decisions about what risks are acceptable to me."

Here Snape tried to open his mouth, but she cut him off. "And more than fair, it's not smart! I know I'm only seventeen, but how old do you have to be before you're qualified to knowingly put yourself at risk for something that you believe in? How old were you, when you first did it?"

She stared at him defiantly. Snape opened his mouth, then shut it again, then started to say, "Child..."

"No! Don't call me that, because I'm not. Malfoy was talking about you as an ally. He implied quite clearly that if he took a shine to me, my grades in your class would be assured. But I know that you're not his ally; you've saved Harry's life. So you're spying again, like Harry said you did before. Spying for Professor Dumbledore. You're putting yourself at huge risk! I have the right to do the same. I came to you because once I put two and two together, it was clear that you of all people should understand!"

Snape was truly astounded by everything that the girl seemed to understand. She was appealing to everything in him that would serve her cause... logic, ruthlessness, a commitment to honor even at the price of dignity. What she was saying was true... ruthlessly, disgustingly true. This was a remarkable opportunity. She certainly seemed to understand the risk involved, and the price. And if she was willing to commit herself to that, was it really best for him to try to stop her, saying it was for her own good? The girl was right; there would be no safety for her. But this? He had to be certain that she understood.

"Miss Granger, in the highly unlikely circumstance that I let you go through with this, do you really think that you understand what you'll have to do?" he asked finally, softly.

"I'll have to let him bed me," she said baldly, continuing to meet Snape's eyes despite the sudden redness in her cheeks.

"You're seventeen," he stated flatly.

"Don't let that fool you," she snapped, still blushing. "Do you really think that the sixth-years are all angels? I lost my virginity last year... it was no big deal, but Malfoy wouldn't get even that overrated offering from me."

Snape cleared his throat. "Be that as it may, this would be something entirely different than fumbling with another student in one of the storage rooms after hours. Miss Granger, in the course of my duties, which you have so succinctly surmised, I once watched a laughing group of Death Eaters take a thirteen-year old girl apart using magic while they took turns raping her. Lucius Malfoy was one of them. He enjoyed himself immensely. And while his purposes for you would be rather different, you would do well to remember the type of man with whom you're talking about going to bed."

Granger had gone from red to slightly green at his description, but to her credit showed no revulsion. "I know what kind of man he is, and I know what kind of man you are. You watched that without intervening, Professor?" she accused harshly.

Snape felt a rush of heat. "I couldn't have thrown away my cover even for that," he snapped. "We just would have both wound up dead. And even if I could have saved her, it would have been at the price of immeasurable intelligence and information that could save thousands of lives before this war is over!"

"Exactly," whispered Granger hoarsely. "It was a terrible price, but worth paying."

Snape glared at her wordlessly for a long, thoughtful moment. "So tell me, Miss Granger, what it is that you think that you need from me? Your... request."

Suddenly all of the fierceness disappeared from her face, and the blush was back on her cheeks. Her eyes went wide and she swallowed, apparently having forgotten the point of the interview in the passion of her arguments.

"You were a Death Eater once," she nearly whispered.

Snape snorted. "Yes. I was. So?"

Through some sort of exercise of will, she regained control of her voice, and said in something approaching a conversational tone, "You're right about this being different than... fumbling, you said... with one of the boys. I need to be better prepared than I am now, or he'll have too much of an advantage. You know... you know better than I do what sort of things he might try to get control of me. Magically. Or... otherwise." She valiantly maintained eye contact with him until the very last word, when it finally seemed too much and she looked away.

Snape's gaze was flat, his face and voice expressionless. "I have an idea."

"You can help me prepare myself," she forced herself to say.

"By explaining to you what Malfoy might try to do to you? Magically, and... otherwise?"

"Uh," Granger's eyes flickered over his. "I don't know if just, uh, explaining it to me would be enough... to actually prepare me to cope with it." Some of the previous fierceness returned to her voice. "I have to be able to cope with anything he tries, but make him think he's succeeding! I'll do whatever it takes to make it work."

Snape watched Granger subside, then begin to shift under his glittering gaze and his silence. He knew that others found his stillness unnatural, but he sat without any movement for many long moments. Finally, his low, dangerous voice floated across the room to her.

"Miss Granger, you may return to your dormitory. I will consider... all... that you've said. Come speak to me tomorrow afternoon after the lunch hour. I will share with you my conclusions regarding this matter then. Until then, I suggest that you not speak to anyone about it." He paused. "You may go now."

Granger seemed about to speak, then wisely shut her mouth and stood up. She watched him closely, but he gave no signs of his inclinations, merely waited politely for her to leave. After opening and closing her mouth one more time, she turned on her heel and took several measured steps that carried her out of Snape's office.

* * *

Snape was again in his office when he heard Hermione return after a sleepless, worried night. This time she didn't bother to call out for him, but simply came back into the damp, poorly-lit room, carrying her books. He made no pretense of having been at work; he was sitting in thought, waiting, when she arrived and seated herself, watching him expectantly.

"Professor," she said quietly.

"Miss Granger," he replied. "I have just come from an extended discussion with the headmaster."

Granger's cheeks began to burn in anger almost instantly. They would have to work on that. To her credit, however, her expression remained calm, and her voice was not raised as she replied. "Then I suppose that that will be it," she nearly snarled.

He raised one eyebrow, which was enough to subdue her momentarily. He had no doubt that she was assembling some appropriately scathing condemnations to hurl as soon as he actually told her that she would not be allowed to pursue her plan.

"Professor Dumbledore is most pained that things have again come to the point where allowing students to risk their lives is the best of a bad lot of choices." He watched the fierce joy come over her face as she gleaned his meaning. "Unfortunately, we are agreed that we are indeed in such dire straits."

"Then you'll not stop me!" Granger exclaimed with excitement. Snape fought back a brief wave of nausea, hearing this bright, talented student proclaim her joy at being able to pursue a course that would almost undoubtedly put her in the bed of a very evil man. But, having been there, he understood that her real eagerness was for a chance to do something in the face of a terrifying and bleak enemy.

"No, we'll not stop you."

"And..." Granger eyed him critically, going a bit red again. "Will you help me?"

Snape didn't reply, simply pinned Granger under his glittering gaze and waited for her to start fidgeting. She didn't, though her blush increased to a blaze and her body became visibly tense with the effort of staying still. Long moments passed. She refused to look away.

With a very sudden movement and noise, Snape pushed his chair back from his desk and stood. She nearly squeaked, her startled eyes following him upward. One... two... three... four... four smooth, long strides carried him around the desk and behind her chair. She didn't turn to watch him, though he saw her start to tremble as he passed out of her sight and she knew that he stood behind her. He positioned himself right behind her chair, and leaned forward so that he bent over her shoulder. She would be able to feel the heat of his body, to smell him. His hands, which had first rested on the back of her chair, settled very lightly on her shoulders, and she jerked beneath him. Snape breathed on the side of her face.

"Though it violates every principle that a teacher should uphold," he murmured, "it would be hypocritical to permit you to go to a monster's bed, and yet refuse you the preparation that might make such a foolhardy course sustainable." Granger's breathing had become rapid. With one hand, he brushed her thick hair back from the side of her face and neck, careful not to touch her skin. "Allowing you to come to a teacher's bed is at least less objectionable than allowing you to go to Malfoy's, if only slightly. So I shall do my worst to you, Miss Granger--" his voice had dropped to a throaty growl, "--while, of course, helping you find ways to endure it. And if you do, then you might be ready for Malfoy."

It took her a moment, but when she spoke, her voice was unperturbed. "Thank you, Professor Snape." He allowed himself a smile, here where she couldn't see it. She had impressive control of her tone and she had overcome the urge to fidget... if he could teach her to control her bodily reactions as well, she might be able to pull off this intrigue.

"Then we shall begin immediately. The holiday is only two weeks away. Come here tonight, at midnight..." and now Snape allowed his mouth to brush fleetingly against the side of her bare neck. "I shall be waiting here in my office for you."

Abruptly she stood and turned to face him, her face pale and her eyes bright. He remained leaning on the back of the chair, and smiled up at her very lazily, very suggestively. "All right, Professor," she said, fighting not to rush the words. "I'll see you tonight." She stayed where she was for several seconds, eyes fixed on his face, then she tore her gaze away and walked out at a clip.

When the door swung closed behind her, Snape exhaled slowly. The sweat that he'd been staving off broke out across his pale forehead, the breathing that he'd been controlling became somewhat shallower, the beginnings of arousal which he'd been harnessing insisted on now having its say. It had been a very long time since he'd taken a woman's body, and his libido was wrenched between the lustful singing in his groin and his mind's insistence on continually reminding himself the exact sickening reasons that he was doing this.

Hermione stood in the hall panting, flushed, and feeling thankful that there was no one around. She had asked herself countless times if she truly thought that she could endure the disgusting reality of Lucius Malfoy's homicidal hands on her body, and had decided that she could. It had taken her a while to conceive of the idea of asking Snape for help; the idea of having him touch her would once have left her retching, but following the resolution that she could survive Malfoy, Snape seemed just vaguely unappealing. But it now appeared that there was something that she'd overlooked in her analysis.

Her greasy, sallow, sneering, deeply unappealing Potions professor had just, with a few murmured words, the nearness of his body, and a very transient contact, left her gasping in arousal in a way that several instances of heavy petting with teenaged boys had not. She wished that she could attribute it to magic. She could not.

Hermione shifted, feeling the sticky warmth on her thighs.

She'd lied to him about her virginity, but wasn't sure if he'd believed her or not.

The flushed student pushed herself away from the hall and began walking to her next class. It was weird, knowing that she might experience sex tonight for the first time. Weirder, knowing with whom that would be. Weirdest of all, finding that suddenly the idea caused a tight, warm weakness in her gut. She'd certainly never imagined that this was how it would be, but she'd had no misgivings about the romance-less practicality of the situation. She'd been thinking of it sort of like handling flobberworms for Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class... personally gross but academically undemanding, and certainly useful to learn for later. Suddenly, she found herself thinking of "preparation" at Snape's hands in an entirely different - and terrifying sexual - light.

Suddenly, it had occurred to her that Severus Snape was a man.

* * *

Twenty of midnight: Hermione slipped from the Gryffindor dorm, swathed in Harry's Invisibility Cloak. He'd allowed her to borrow it on her own twice before, once for a rendezvous with an eager Ravenclaw, once to get into the Restricted Section of the library. She'd told him tonight that she had a date with Thomas again, and he'd only blushed and teased her a bit before giving her the Cloak. He'd throttle her if he knew where she was really going, and why.

Snape waited until exactly midnight to swing open the door to his office, knowing that Granger would have arrived early. Sure enough, she stood in the center of the room, a lush cloak draped over one arm, glancing nervously about as she waited. He smiled a bit to himself as he noted that she'd donned a flattering Muggle dress that, he had to admit, did make her look more the woman than the girl. Clinging blue velvet fell from an attractive gathered knot at her hip, which would afford teasing glances of her smooth legs as she moved. The bodice made her developing figure look fuller. She'd pulled her hair away from her face, which he'd never seen her do before, to reveal an attractive neck and shoulders. Snape stepped out from behind the tapestry that had moved aside to reveal the door to his private chambers, and Granger started a bit as she noticed him. Her wide eyes flew to his face, searching for signs of approval.

She got none, just his flat appraisal as his eyes raked over her from head to toe, lingering openly on her newfound curves. She blushed immediately, but resolutely she pursed her lips and gave him a haughty once-over in return. Snape had worn a set of his usual robes, the ones in which he taught, to deliberately try to discomfort her by reinforcing the authority of his role as her professor.

Hiding his smile at her cheek, working to ignore the stirrings of heat at the thoughts of what was ahead - he'd spent the day trying to convince himself that this would be a purely academic kind of instruction on his part - he held out one hand to her and held back the tapestry to his chambers with the other, an open invitation. She was clearly discomfited, but she tilted her head back a notch, stepped forward to him, firmly placed her trembling hand in his still one, and waited expectantly for him to lead her inside, her eyes fixed directly on his, her mouth tight.

He paused, staring down at her with hard eyes. The trembling of her hand increased a bit. Good. He led her inside.

His chambers were spare and neat but the few furnishings were lush. Here there were no jars of pickled monster parts, but a few paintings decorated the walls. Her eyes flew past the sitting room, into his sleeping chamber, where she could see one corner of the giant four-poster bed.

Snape led her directly there. Neither of them had spoken a word yet. She looked vaguely amazed at her situation.

Snape backed her up to the bed, feeling the way that his tall, robed body overshadowed her small, lithe one. She seemed very much the underage student here, and he found that his heated anticipation suddenly became a very immediate arousal. He was going to take her body. She was his student, eyes wide, naivete apparent, terror and hunger visibly wracking her inexperienced body. It was everything of which his darkest fantasies consisted, the fantasies that he'd never for a moment dreamed of living out. It went against every moral and ethical code that he lived by, and his blood was throbbing in his veins at its immediacy, his insides drawn into a demanding knot at the reality.

Slowly, slowly, Snape lifted one hand to her face. She watched the contact coming, recoiled ever so slightly, shivered as one long finger settled under her chin. Her eyelids dropped a bit as she stared up at him.

Slowly, slowly, the touch slid down her throat. His fingers curled around her neck, wrapping far around the sides, as he took a firm grip on her. Her eyes were glazed, almost entranced.

Suddenly, slowness discarded, Snape threw her onto the bed and was on top of her. Hermione screamed and struggled.

His body felt like it was smothering hers, long strong limbs finding hers among the fabric and holding her down. She couldn't help but struggle as panic overwhelmed her. The hand at her throat was gone, but now he was above her, his breath hot on her face, his flashing eyes pinning her as effectively as his powerful, long-fingered hands, and she subsided, almost paralyzed by the complete and utter realization that she was being forced onto a bed by Professor Snape, his hands were on her body, and she was about to submit to him.

He waited while she stilled, watching her analytically. The panic on her face subsided into resigned fear and confused longing. She searched his expression, but still found no warmth, no identifiable emotion. She experienced a new rush of terror as he smiled slowly, malevolently, then bent his mouth to hers.

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she squeezed them shut. His mouth was shockingly hot as it met hers, his breath sweet. She expected him to force his tongue into her mouth - that was what all that the boys that she knew seemed to want to do when kissing - so she kept her mouth resolutely closed. She was surprised when his kiss was light, almost teasing, flickering around her lips, tongue darting against the corner of her mouth.

This wasn't what she expected. She lay still, let him tease her. His mouth moved a bit, down over her chin, trailing butterfly kisses over her jawline. Hermione found herself squirming a bit. By the time that he began teasing her mouth again, she was feeling the warm pleasure a bit more and the gripping terror a bit less. She parted her lips fractionally, keeping her eyes closed.

She felt his teeth close gently on the edge of her lower lip. Then he bit her, drawing blood.

Hermione would have screamed, but the sound was lost in his mouth, which had now covered hers. The copper taste of blood filled her mouth, and she began sobbing as his tongue slid past her wounded lips. He sucked hungrily on her mouth, increasing the sting, and she trembled violently beneath him.

His mouth left hers and she stiffened, wondering madly what he would do next. Her sobs, unstifled, filled the air. It took her a long minute to realize that nothing else had happened, that he was merely poised above her, still pinning her down, but not acting on her at all. His head was beside hers, his dark hair on her bare shoulder, his mouth at her ear, so she couldn't see his face. After a moment, she swallowed her cries and began experiencing a real fear that her hysterical overreaction to a few kisses had convinced him that she couldn't handle what she claimed.

He waited for her silence. When he spoke, his voice in her ear was more gentle and warm than she had ever heard it. "Hermione?"

She'd never heard her first name from him. It acted like a salve, soothing her oddly. She swallowed. "Yes?" she whispered thickly.

"I know that was frightening. I wanted to give you one last chance to back out of this mad scheme, after you'd had a taste of it." She still couldn't see his face, but his tone remained soft, and she was struck more strongly than she had ever been in the past - and it had occurred to her - by just how erotic his voice was.

She thought about it, but only briefly. She'd made up her mind, and even if her instinct had motivated her to struggle against him to the point where it looked like rape, Hermione would have insisted that she'd meant to go through with it. She took a deep, calming breath.

"Thank you for asking, but yes, I want to go through with this. I promise to stay calmer."

His body shifted against hers, and she was suddenly aware of something hard pressing into her hip. She caught her breath as she realized that Professor Snape had an erection. She berated herself inwardly - how did she think they would accomplish this otherwise? - but she was still startled to be faced with the evidence of his arousal. His breathing, however, was even and slow in her ear. "Do you feel that?" he asked silkily, and his very voice was suddenly like a skilled hand alighting in her most intimate places.

The fear, never fully receded, was returning, but manageable. "Mm-hm," she replied in a half-choked voice.

He nuzzled past her hair and purred into her ear. "I'm going to let you go. You'll behave."

He shifted again, releasing her wrists, which burned from the force of his grip. His hands drew in, running over her upper arms and coming to rest high on her sides, under her arms, his thumbs splayed across the outer swell of her breasts.

Her breathing was rapid and shallow again, but she lay still. He moved downward on the bed, his head over her stomach, and drew his hands slowly down her sides. She squirmed slightly as she felt the pressure move over her hips, down the length of her legs. His hands passed the hem of her skirt, which was bunched up around her hips, and came to rest on her bare flesh. Hermione moaned.

His hands moved up her legs, pushing her dress up as they went. They slipped past her groin, staying at the outside of her body, and slid under her dress, over her torso. She turned her head to one side, not wanting to look.

Snape began to caress her body thoroughly, started at the outermost bits and working his way in.

This was a complete change from what had come before. She experienced the dizzy, surreal thought that Snape was seducing her. The boys with whom she had fooled around had been in the biggest hurry possible to pet her as intimately as she would allow as soon as she would allow, but Snape explored her shoulders and throat, her arms and wrists, her calves and thighs and feet, and finally her stomach, sides, and back so thoroughly that she began to wonder if he was aroused at all. She was becoming increasingly so, and increasingly less inhibited and terrorized about it. She was quite shocked as she found herself writhing under his touch, trying to coax his hands with her movement to the places where her body most wanted them. She heard him chuckle and felt a rush of shame at her longing, but it was quickly washed away in the ever more powerful waves of desire. She knew that the blankets must be soaked beneath her; her thighs were certainly slippery.

Whenever she found the strength to look up, his expression was one of concentration or amusement, never of passion. She had the increasing need to see him inflamed. Hermione slowly realized that she wanted him to take her, that she was becoming ever more desperate for him to give her a far more intimate attention than he was.

"Please," she whispered, and he smiled at her knowingly, but continued to tease her by running his hands over her sides, the upper swells of her breasts, her vulnerable throat, but not over the rigid nipples that ached tightly.

"Patience," he counseled calmly, one hand cupping the side of her breast beneath the sheath of her dress, his thumb flicking nearly over its peak.

"Please," she moaned, arching into his hand. The fingers of his other hand ran through the juices coating her inner thigh, so nearly brushing her labia, then up over her stomach.

"Not... yet," he growled. The hand on her stomach slid lower, his palm nearly curving down over the light fuzz of Hermione's mons.

"Please," she begged, her whole body bowstring taut, writhing enough that she felt the brush of his fingers over her clit before he jerked his hand away.

He clucked at her disapprovingly, then got a good grip on the bunched fabric of her dress and began dragging it upward to reveal her body. She wriggled in an uncoordinated effort to help, gasping at the cool air on her hot skin. He returned to his infuriating ministrations now that she was bare.

"Please," she screamed, grabbing his hands around the wrists, not quite daring to force them to the places that wanted them, knowing she couldn't move them an inch against his will. He merely raised an eyebrow, and she yielded her grip, sobbing for relief.

He smiled down at her again and chuckled. "So needy," he commented coolly. "How needy?" he asked, and she struggled for an answer before realizing that he was finding one on his own. Her lowered his head again, kissing her lightly just below her belly button - she tingled - then lowering his head even further.

She gasped in shock as she felt his breath on the sensitive part of her body that most wanted his touch. His tongue flicked against her body - she distinctly felt it slide briefly between her labia, probe fleetingly at her in the most intimate way possible... then withdraw. His still-robed body slid upward along hers until he was again poised above her, and his hand finally found her nipple, and she sobbed with both relief and a new level of wanting.

This time she was looking into his glittering black eyes, and saw the passion that was hooded there, but real, as she cried one last, "please!"

He sat up briefly, his hands playing about his robes, then leaned over her again. Hermione was barely coherent as she felt him slide one leg between hers, then the other. He propped himself on one hand, reached down with the other, and spread her thighs gently. She raised her hips, desperate for the contact of their bodies. His eyes caught and held hers, and she felt an exultant surge of her own pleasure at the heat and desire that were now plain on his face. She felt his hardness slip along her thighs, slip between her well-lubricated labia, press insistently at the entrance of her sex.

"Hermione," said Snape hoarsely, poised to take her.

She couldn't quite answer, just looked up at him and voiced a sound of desire.

He bit his lower lip; evidently it was taking some measure of self-control to not plunge into her. She silently, desperately urged that control to slip. He held her gaze. "Do you want the pain, or do you want me to take it away?"

She fought to make sense of him. Why wasn't he inside her? "Wh-what?" she stammered.

"It will hurt, this first time. Do you want me to take the pain away?"

She froze in confusion, tears still running down the sides of her face. "I told you..." she managed to get out, before he placed a finger over her lips.

"Don't lie," he warned, his breathing a bit labored. "Just answer me. If you continue to prevaricate, I'll just take you, and you'll have the pain."

"But... but, I told you..." she insisted, her brain too addled to come to a sensible decision.

"Yes... or no?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Professor..." she breathed, then shrieked as he rocked forward, plunging into her trembling, tight body. She writhed around him frantically, crying fiercely now, but her arms flew to his neck and she clung to him. He pinned her there on his sex, breathing hard, but didn't continue his possession.

It hurt.

"Now, silly girl, do you want me to do something about that, or keep going?" he asked dangerously.

"Keep... going," she gasped.

He obliged, and as he stroked into her again, she felt the tearing of her membranes this time, but it didn't matter. The pain was great, but in her delirium she could hardly tell where it left off and the consuming pleasure began.

The last vestiges of time and consciousness and reason dissolved as Hermione's professor made love to her. At some point she realized that Snape was now voicing his passions, and their moans mingled in the air. She later wouldn't suppose that it took that long... she didn't need it, after the desperation with which it'd began for her, and he seemed to hold off only long enough to ensure her orgasm before allowing his own. Of course, he did not just trust to fate for the former, but somehow got one palm flat against her lower stomach, his thumb quickly finding and encouraging the throbbing center of her desire, and it took only seconds for such attention to bring her to a frenzied, screaming, clinging release, as if all the pleasure and desire that had led up to her current state condensed themselves into one shining, sweating paroxysm of ecstasy.

Followed closely by his own.

He did not collapse on top of her, but rolled to the side as he withdrew from her body, drawing his robes closed again in the same motion. Hermione's eyes were glazed as she watched him... one hand absently wandered to her sensitive sex, covering herself. He rose almost immediately and stepped off to what she assumed to be a bathroom, inasmuch as she was yet thinking about such things. Sound of running water. He returned quickly, holding a crystal phial as he sat beside her on the bed, cross-legged.

She looked at the phial. "Shall I drink that?" she asked weakly.

He held it out to her, and she pushed herself up onto her elbows and raised her head. He held the phial to her lips, placing his other hand at the back of her neck, and tipped the substance down her throat. It was surprisingly pleasant, almost fruity.

Hermione looked up at Snape. He was expressionless.

"That wasn't what I expected," she said awkwardly, looking past the edge of the bed for her discarded dress.

He held her back as she made a movement toward it, waving vaguely when she looked to him. "Stay as you are. You'll need to be comfortable with that," he said quietly, and she half nodded, then sat up, wriggling to the head of the bed so that she could sit amidst his pillows. He turned to face her. She drew her legs up, wrapping her arms around them. The situation was so surreal that she didn't know how to feel. If he showed some sort of reaction, she could follow his lead, but he just seemed quiet and withdrawn.

"How was that not what you expected?" he asked in the same low tone.

"I thought... I thought you'd make it as unpleasant as you could. That was... it seemed like you were trying to make me feel good," she said in a rush, watching him closely.

He smiled a bit ruefully. "You'll get plenty of both, if I'm to prepare you," he assured her. "For your first time, I saw no reason not to give you... pleasure. Though you've chosen to forego a partner with whom the act has some--" he paused awkwardly, "emotional meaning, I saw no need for it to be a completely unpleasant memory."

She looked concerned as she chewed her lip. "Professor..."

"Don't apologize," he instructed with a hint of his usual sharpness.

She looked up at him.

"I knew you were lying, fool girl. I passed the same lie along to Dumbledore. It does make the whole thing seem at least slightly less sinister, to imagine that it hasn't taken anything truly unique from you, doesn't it?"

She nodded slowly.

"Does it bother you at all that you just gave your virginity to the professor whom you most loathe?" he asked with an edge to his voice, as if challenging her to admit it.

Hermione looked uncomfortable. "I don't loathe you," she said.

He raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"I really don't," she insisted, then added slowly, "I've never liked you, but I always respected you. I don't think I could ever loathe someone who's brilliant. You're, um, unpleasant in class, but I think I've learned more from you than any other teacher. How could I loathe that?" she asked with genuine confusion. Snape stifled a laugh. The girl was serious about her inability to truly dislike anyone who had desired knowledge to offer her.

"That's helpful to know," he said thoughtfully, studying her. His tone took on some of his usual disdain as he continued. "Do not think that what you just experienced will be representative of these lessons of yours," he snapped.

Her tone was a bit hurt as she said, "I wouldn't expect that, sir. It wouldn't be very helpful, would it?"

He eyed her critically, and she fought the urge to dive for her dress. All of the gentleness that he'd displayed earlier was gone.

"Put yourself together, Miss Granger," he instructed condescendingly. "I'll want you again tomorrow night, and I'll not want you looking a fright from lack of sleep. Did you borrow Potter's cloak to get down here tonight?"

She was sliding her dress over her head, but she nodded, not trusting her voice. She felt deeply bruised, hearing this tone from him after what she'd just been through at his hands, and was determined not to cry until she got out of here.

"Take this," he said curtly, pulling a bauble on a fine chain from a pocket and tossing it to her. "Potter will get suspicious if you keep asking for that dratted thing. This won't make you invisible, but if you're quiet and unobtrusive, it will allow you to pass unnoticed. Anyone near you will find reason to be distracted from noticing you. It'll do."

She clutched it, staring at him. "Thanks," she said flatly.

"The password for my chambers is 'scholarly inquiry,'" he told her.

"Scholarly inquiry," she repeated.

He rose from the bed; evidently she wasn't getting herself to the door fast enough. She prided herself on holding the tears back well enough that she wasn't having to blink them away. Indeed, he took her arm and guided her over to the door to his office, then took the cloak in her arms and, to her surprise, settled it gently about her shoulders for her. She felt confused.

"It does not please me," he said quietly, seriously, "that my role here involves both introducing you to a new world of joys, and preparing you for the worst pains that that world has to offer. I shall strive to avoid ruining you for those future lovers who you might choose freely, but if I am not harsh enough with you, Malfoy will tear you to shreds."

Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice.

"Come to me tomorrow, and you will have nothing but unpleasantness," he promised her solemnly, and she shuddered. "But remember that when you come to me the next night, I shall discuss it with you with some... support, and I will do what I can to help you understand that unpleasantness without harm. Understand?" he asked firmly.

She nodded again; he leaned forward, and pressed his lips to her forehead in a gesture of pure affection. "Go," he whispered hoarsely.

She went.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Hermione was astonished to find that she'd slept. She awoke to find sunlight already streaming in the window and knew that she'd missed breakfast. For a moment, it seemed odd that Harry and Ron had not come and dragged her out of bed, then it occurred to her that Harry might have talked Ron out of that course of action, having his own suspicions about with whom she'd spent the previous evening. She smiled a bit. Dear, considerate Harry.

She pushed herself out of bed and trotted to the bathroom, where she examined her body in the mirror before cleaning it. Her newly deflowered self looked no different than her virginal self had, and yet, she felt different. She eyed her body critically and knew that it was the body of a woman. It was a good body, she thought. Snape had seemed to enjoy it. Not very ready to think about that, yet, are we? she asked herself snidely. Better think about it; there's more to come, she answered herself with an edge.

She'd enjoyed it. She'd not counted on that part at all. Snape had made her feel hot, adult, sexual. She'd been aroused by his hands, his mouth, his body. She tried reconciling that thought with years of the sardonic, untouchable, unknowable Potions Master. There was a knot in her gut again. Untouchable? She'd touched him. Aloof? She'd seen him with the most basic, primal human pleasure scrawled across his usually shuttered face. Reserved? He'd not been too reserved to moan as he plunged into her body over and over...

She felt an odd surge of triumph, of desire. Academically, she knew that he'd displayed his pleasure in her only because he chose to; she knew that if he'd chosen otherwise, she'd never have known that she could elicit the faintest spark of actual desire in him.

But that made her wonder... she was a woman. She was desirable; he'd allowed her to see that. She was inexperienced now, but could she make herself so desirable, could she develop the skill to elicit heat from Severus Snape whether he wanted to or not?

It was a strangely giddy thought. She imagined sitting in class, slowly crossing her legs. She imagined his iron control tested, his voice catching for just a split second as he was distracted by thoughts of Hermione's lush sexuality. She imagined him resolving to stay focused, to ignore her enticing suggestiveness, and unable. The thought of compelling his desire so strongly that even his formidable willpower could not overcome it seemed suddenly intoxicating. She didn't just want him to want her... he'd allowed her to see that, on his own terms of course. Suddenly she wanted him to want her so badly that he couldn't resist her, couldn't just smirk and pretend to be unaffected.

The way that she wanted him now. Her knees were weak. Hermione gazed into the mirror at her flushed face, breathing heavily.

* * *

Snape straightened his collar fastidiously, then checked to make sure that his cuffs were fully buttoned and laying as he liked. Dressing was an elaborate and cherished daily ritual for him, and as he settled his robes on his shoulders he ensured that each pleat fell where it belonged.

He was trying to distract himself from considering the night ahead. He wished he could go to the girl's friends and ask them to be ready for her when he was done with her, to be waiting with tissues and chocolate and whatever else it was that teenaged girls wanted when they'd been terrorized at the hands of monsters. Snape regarded his hands briefly. The night before they'd pleasured her.

Tonight would be enjoyable for him, at least. But still, he felt concern. He disliked the idea of tapping his darkest, most unruly desires; though he now knew himself to be capable of reigning them in, the experience was difficult and nauseating. He remembered a time when he'd felt like a slave to his bloody urges, and the damage he'd caused in his weakness. That would never happen again, clearly, and tonight he would use his own sadistic impulses in carefully measured and considered ways to achieve a certain ends. It twisted his gut to know how much he would enjoy that, and how unpleasant it would be to tap that dark well without just throwing himself in as he once had; to taste its heady waters without drowning in them; to control himself. But he had no doubts that he would control himself.

He suspected Miss Granger to be a resilient, perceptive girl, or he'd never have agreed to this. But tonight he would put her to the test.

* * *

Harry slipped silently up the stairs to the girl's dormitory, knowing that Hermione was up there alone. He tapped on the door lightly, and was relieved to see his best friend's curious face peering out at him through the crack of the door a few seconds later. "`Mione... what are you doing?"

She opened the door for him, and he slipped inside. She was wearing her robes, and her bushy hair and lack of makeup were her typical presentation, and yet... she was smiling just a little bit, secretly. And flushed, he thought. His suspicions were confirmed. "Hi Harry," she said, bouncing onto her bed, and Harry sat down beside her and looked at her intently.

"I wanted to check up on you. How was last night?" he asked, spying his cloak draped over her chair.

Her flush increased, her eyes bright. "Um, good," she answered nonchalantly.

"Hermione," Harry began, then grinned at her. She smiled back, a bit shyly. He couldn't stand it. "Merlin's teeth, `Mione, you did it, didn't you?"

It looked like she was trying to put on an innocent face, but she was having a hard time with it. "Don't lie," he warned her. "C'mon, tell me, you did, didn't you?"

Hermione stared at him, clearly torn between apprehension and excitement. Finally she nodded, looking to him nervously for his reaction. Harry leaned forward and threw his arms around her, and she laughed a bit as she hugged him back. "We did it," she proclaimed in a funny voice. "We really, really did."

Harry sat back and regarded her seriously. "You look happy. Are you happy?"

She bit her lower lip and nodded. Harry did think that she looked happy... but nervous, too. He hoped she wasn't worried that he would disapprove. He was curious, though. "Tell me, you've got to tell me about it," he insisted with excitement.

"Well... I dunno, Harry. It wasn't exactly what I expected, you know. But it was... 'nice' doesn't seem like the right word. It was really something. Just to be that close to someone. In that way."

Harry nodded, taking it all in. Many of the sixth years were starting to have sex, and he was mad with curiosity, as were all the boys who'd not yet had the experience. He felt funny knowing that Hermione had gotten there first, but glad for his first chance to pick the brain of someone who wouldn't make fun of him for not knowing.

"Did it hurt much?" he asked with concern.

She nodded again, but didn't seem upset. "Oh, it did. But it was okay. It felt, um, good that it hurt. I know that sounds weird. But it made it, um, important."

Harry wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but filed it away for future reference.

"Well, okay. I can't believe you did it! I'm so happy for you. Thomas must be ecstatic... he better have treated you right," Harry added, his voice suddenly a bit dark.

Hermione nodded guiltily. "Oh, yeah, he did."

* * *

Harry, who was still excitedly hanging at Hermione's side by lunch, managed to keep his mouth shut and act nonchalant when Ron showed up. He kept glancing over at the Ravenclaw table, eager for a glance of Thomas, wondering if the boy would look like the night's activities had aged him as much as Hermione did. He was surprised to note that Thomas didn't look excited at all, and indeed, hardly cast a glance at the Gryffindor table through all of lunch.

For that matter, Hermione hardly glanced at the Ravenclaw one either. And yet that glow persisted...

Harry frowned thoughtfully.

* * *

"I can't imagine why you're still dressed," Snape drawled in a mocking voice.

Hermione had paused just inside the door to his chambers uncertainly, noting that he wasn't in the outer chamber and wondering if she was expected to wander back into his bedroom looking for him. He saved her the decision by appearing in the doorway, but his first words were hardly of welcome.

She'd tried to steel herself today. She wasn't exactly sure what "nothing but unpleasantness" meant, but was sure it wouldn't be... pleasant. She grimaced and, determined to make a decent showing of herself, shrugged out of her dress and sandals without a word. She felt tremendously self-conscious standing in the middle of Snape's receiving room, wearing not a stitch, under his critical surveillance, but she found the courage to look up and meet his eyes. He was leaning on the doorframe staring at her with disdain, thoughtlessly swirling a tumbler of some dark fluid in one of his elegant hands. He wasn't wearing his robes, just well-tailored black trousers, leather boots, and an untucked, partially unbuttoned satiny white shirt.

No one would have believed her had she tried to describe Snape like this. Languid, casual... suggestive. His expression was not particularly one of arousal, but it belied his intent nonetheless. He looked at her like she was a mere animal, but one that he intended to enjoy kicking.

Hermione shuddered and dropped her eyes. That was when he assaulted her.

She didn't remember him crossing the room, but suddenly his hand was tangled painfully in her hair and he thrust her toward the couch. She stumbled and landed gracelessly, but didn't get the time to recoup before he was atop her. He manhandled her onto her knees on the couch, bent awkwardly over its velvet arm, seemingly without a single thought for how his grip or force might discomfort her. Hermione was still gasping with shock when she felt him probing at her still-dry sex.

His fingers worked into her from behind, heedless of the fact that her body was unreceptive, while his other hand wrapped into her hair again and held her bent forward on the couch. By now she was repeating a mantra to herself: Not going to cry... not going to cry... but it was awful to feel him invading her very body without a thought to her feelings on the matter. Snape managed to work his fingers into her and was pumping them in and out forcefully, spreading her little bit of natural moisture around.

She sighed in relief as he withdrew the unwanted penetration, then stiffened and try to jerk from his grasp when she felt him position himself between her spread knees.

"No," she wailed, but he wasn't interested in her thoughts as he pressed into her through sheer force. His sex felt huge and swollen as it forced its way past the dry, resistant walls of her passage. The feeling was completely unlike the intercourse he'd had with her last night, when she was wet for it. He grunted as he slammed the rest of the way into her with a single, violent thrust, and Hermione shrieked.

"Shut up," he growled, pressing her face into the velvet upholstery as he raped her. He drew most of the way out before burying himself in her again. "Accio bourbon," he murmured, drawing his drink back to his hand and taking a sip as he pressed slowly into the third time, relishing the feel of her resistant vagina. "Your pussy feels good like this," he purred at her in a low voice. "I know it hurts. You. A lot." He dragged the last four words out in time with his terrible thrusts, trying to get himself into her deeper each time.

Hermione tried to swallow her sobs, thinking desperately that this couldn't last too long. He slammed himself into her as he finished his drink and dropped the glass. Leaning forward, she smelled the alcohol on his breath as he whispered in a mock-soothing voice, "Go ahead and cry, you worthless cunt. You'll feel better if you do." The cutting edge of his voice was too much, and indeed, her sobs began to escape her unstifled as Snape continued his possession.

His free hand snaked around her side and found her budding breasts. Snape wasted no time finding a tender nipple and tugging at it fiercely. Her cries changed pitch as he began to brutalize first one tiny nub, then the other. He mauled the gentle swells with his strong hands, twisting and pinching her nipples mercilessly, continuing to press her face into the couch.

"Had enough yet?" he asked cruelly. His only answer was more sobs. "I think you have," he volunteered for her, and she gulped in loud lungfuls of air as he withdrew from her sex and released her nipple, but kept the grip in her hair. His fingers probed at her folds once more, and she was vaguely relieved to realize that her body had managed to start lubricating now. She struggled to control herself as he alternately stroked her slickness and played with himself, feeling burning hatred and terror, wondering wildly how she could have thought she'd enjoyed the night before.

"Enough of that, anyway," he continued, and then started to insistently press the head of his member against the tiny aperture of her ass.

Hermione wondered what shock felt like. He simply couldn’t mean...

She screamed, a full-voiced, ear-piercing shriek, and flailed wildly beneath him, causing him to slide out of the ring of her anus, which he'd begun to penetrate. She writhed uncontrollably and almost turned fully under him, her instincts kicking in as she tried desperately to strike him. She vaguely felt the pain of the handful of hair that she lost, but Snape simply sat back out of her reach, sighed, and palmed his wand.

She didn't even hear him say it, but she suddenly couldn't move. He pushed her off the coach and flipped her over with his booted foot, so that she lay frozen on her face on the lush carpet. She heard him chuckling as he knelt and spread her legs again, then grabbed her hips and jerked her up onto her knees. "Then we'll do it this way," he commented idly, again pressing his erect member into her resistant ass. It took several long minutes for him to work himself inside her - he withdrew several times to wipe himself through her wet slit to gather more lubrication, then finally cursed and used Accio lubricant and spread some thick, cold jelly into the cleft of her anus. With a sigh of tremendous pleasure, he pressed slowly forward into her tight passage. "Muggle rapists must have such a difficult time of things," he observed calmly, holding himself deep inside her as she inwardly shrieked her discomfort and horror. "I've always thought the full-body bind particularly useful. Though, of course, I'll want to hear your screams here in a moment. Once I've got a good grip."

With that he thrust forward, pressing her back onto her stomach with his sex still buried in her. Pinning her down and getting a good grip on her hips, he murmured the words to release the bind, and Hermione began to writhe and sob in incredible fear. Snape barely moved, letting her do all the work as her struggles caressed his sex. Somehow, though an effort that she'd not have guessed she was capable of, Hermione willed herself to subside on the carpet and try to relax her body. The awful penetration became slightly more tolerable, and she lay there panting, disbelieving what was happening to her.

I really was a stupid girl, she thought bitterly, tasting the salt of her tears, if I didn't see this coming. I asked him for it.

But that knowledge didn't make it any easier to accept, or make her despair and terror any less horrible. How could he do this to her? Even if she had asked, how could he actually do it?

One hand on her back, he began to stroke in and out of her again, and Hermione lay as still as possible. She didn't know how long it took him to come, but she knew it took awhile. He was speaking to her as he continued raping her, but she hardly registered his words.

Finally he withdrew and left her there, and Hermione shuddered violently without trying to get up. She remained exactly as she was while he puttered around the room, and she heard him settle on the couch above her. Minutes passed, maybe an hour, she wasn't sure, before she was roused from her semi-shocked stupor by his toe digging into her side.

"Get up," he snarled.

Hermione ignored him, and was rewarded with a sharp kick in the ribs. She gasped as the pain blossomed and clutched her side, curling inward. Snape reached down and grabbed her by the throat and pulled her half-upright into a sloppy kneeling position.

"It's time to learn to suck. Come on, now, I don't care if it hurts. Get up."

He wrapped his hand in her hair - again - and her major complaint shifted from the ache in her side to the burning of her scalp where he'd already pulled out a chunk of hair. Her consciousness came back into some sort of focus as she realized what was going on. Snape was lounging on the couch, had pulled his erection from his slacks, and was maneuvering her face toward it. He smirked down at her look of terror. "That's right. I've had your cunt and your ass, now all I need is your mouth, and then you really will be worthless to me."

He shoved her face into his crotch, and his stiff member pressed into her cheek. He shifted her head and it poked her in the mouth, but Hermione refused to part her lips.

Snape jerked her head back and stunned her with a sharp blow across the face. Then he thrust his thumb into her mouth and wrenched her jaw open, and with some well-coordinated pressure he maneuvered his sex into her mouth. Hermione tried desperately not to gag, a proposition made difficult by his refusal to accommodate her inexperience. Instead, he pushed her head down hard, forcing his way into the back of her throat.

She felt the head of his cock slide into the spasming muscles of her throat, and her body involuntarily tried to swallow him. With a new wave of revulsion, she felt the wave of bile that preceeded getting sick, and knew she was going to throw up with him still buried in her mouth. Her whole body convulsed as she tried to get free, and he jerked her off of him and held her head to the side of the couch just in time for her to begin vomiting.

When she was done, Snape shoved a glass in her face. "Don't drink this, just wash out your mouth," he instructed sharply, and Hermione groggily parted her lips and tilted back her head. She was shocked to find that the liquid that he poured into her mouth burned, and she almost spit it out immediately. Instead, her head filled with the acrid aromas and invasive sensations of strong alcohol, she swished it around her mouth, then spit it back into the glass that he still held before her face.

"Now this'll be easier," he purred, and leveraged her back into place. She had hoped that her illness might earn her some reprieve, but Snape seemed to think it was splendid that he could violate her mouth without worrying about her puking anything else up. He shoved her down into her previous position, and Hermione's feverish mind worked to try to figure out what she should do to get this over with as fast as possible.

"How stupid are you, Miss Granger? Surely you can figure this out." He punctuated his taunt by shoving hard on the back of her head again, making her gag and start to dry heave. "Keep your fucking teeth off my cock. Use your tongue and your lips. Must I spell everything out for you?"

Hermione responded sluggishly, but tried to do whatever seemed right. She moved her head back and forth, sliding her lips back to the head of his member, then trying to press forward deeply enough that he wouldn't augment her efforts by forcing his way down her throat. She felt him settle back slightly, and hoped that was a good sign. She shifted her position between her knees to one of slightly more comfort and found some sort of tortured rhythm to her efforts to please him. Her cheek throbbed from his blow and his hand was still tangled in her hair, though less tightly now.

Sweating and worried and afraid and in pain, Hermione thought that this was the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life. He gave no indication that he was getting more excited, and she was afraid that she wasn't doing it right and he would never let her stop. She risked a glance upward to see his head tilted back, a peaceful, content expression on his usually stony features. Her hatred peaked, but she didn't dare to stop her efforts.

Perhaps it did take forever, but she finally felt a subtle shift in the muscles of his upper thighs, where her hands had come to rest to brace her balance. She tried to relax, uncertain if he meant to come in her mouth, completely certain that she would puke again if he did. Though she suspected it was coming, she was still shocked when his hand suddenly tightened in her hair and forced her head down - hard - as the first wave of his orgasm shot hot semen into the back of her throat. She began gagging as he jerked free and pumped the rest of his come onto her face. Then he pushed her away, and the battered girl again fell to the floor and lay still, full of nothing but a desperate, tired longing for morning to come.

She noted his footsteps as he went to the bathroom. He returned moments later - she glanced up to see he was fully dressed, his shirt even fully fastened and tucked in now, and he carried a flask. Snape sat down on the couch above her again, but this time he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees thoughtfully.

"Sit up," he directed quietly.

Hermione lay unresponsive for a moment, then struggled to sit up. She was scared to look up into his face, but risked a glance, and saw that he was closed and impassive, not sneering and disdainful as he had been throughout the evening.

He caught her timid gaze and looked her full in her bruised, swollen face. She saw the concern in his hooded black eyes and she suddenly wanted to cry again. In fact, she did, not sobbing this time, but the tears rolling down her cheeks and blurring her vision.

"Sweetheart..." he said gently, voice full of grave concern and resonating with warmth, and Hermione lost it. She was consumed by a desperate, needful longing like nothing she'd ever felt; she needed to be held tenderly, to be comforted, to have her bruises kissed. She didn't even care that the man offering a grain of comfort was the same one who had brutalized her; she found herself craving the succor of his embrace with the hunger of starvation.

But he wasn't coming and holding her. He was sitting there, watching her cry hysterically. His face was impassive again, not warm and concerned. Bitterly she wondered if she'd imagined that moment of compassion... but he'd used a term of endearment for her; she'd not invented that part of it, she was sure.

She tried to swallow her tears again, but she'd done that one too many times tonight. This time there was nothing for it but to sit and cry it out, humiliated by her longing for comfort from her victimizer, and under his inscrutable watch.

Eventually she ground to a snotty, hiccuping halt. Snape was still watching her, the bastard.

"Listen to me, and listen to me well," he said flatly. "I've just raped you, terrorized you, and beaten you. You're in great physical and psychic pain. And then I offered you the very faintest hint that I would give you warmth or comfort, and what was your reaction? Don't answer me, Miss Granger; think about it. After what I put you through, all I had to do was look at you with the faintest concern and call you 'sweetheart,' and you would have spent the rest of the night in my arms, desperately dependent on me to make you feel better."

Hermione stared at him in horror. He looked back without condemnation or praise. "What if I actually gave you that comfort right now? I would be expertly, cunningly laying the foundation to build your very sick, very desperate dependence on me. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Slowly, appalled, Hermione nodded.

Snape nodded back curtly and flicked his long fingers toward the door. "Good. You'll need to find your comforts for this horror elsewhere tonight. When you come back tomorrow, there'll be no... direct... instruction. We'll discuss the events of this evening. Now drink this, then go." Snape held out the flask to her, and Hermione downed its contents as if in a daze, then found her dress and slipped it over her head. She walked out barefoot, leaving her sandals.

She didn't know that Snape followed her back to her dormitory, ensuring that she found her bed safely.

* * *

She couldn't get out of bed.

She didn't bother to look in the mirror, although a tentative exploration with her fingers suggested that Snape's potion had taken care of the bruising of her face and the bloody patch of scalp. Her body throbbed... down there... but it was nothing compared to the pain in her chest and stomach. The pain of what had happened.

He was right. He could have made her his last night. Not totally, but enough. Enough to build on.

Instead she was still her own, but alone and in pain. At the moment she wasn't sure which would have been worse.

***

Midnight. Why was she here? She should have just stayed in bed, never to leave, never to face him, certainly never to resume this insane, suicidal plan of hers.

"Scholarly inquiry," she said clearly, and the door swung open. The chamber beyond was well-lit, and Snape sat in one of the two chairs arranged before the fire. He still wore his robes, and he gazed pensively into the flames, not looking up at her entrance. She noted a steaming cup of tea sitting on the small table by the empty chair.

She herself wore jeans and a sweater. Nothing seductive tonight. Her hair fell untamed around her shoulders; her skin was pale and her face drawn. She sat down and picked up the tea, holding it more for warmth and comfort than because she intended to drink it.

Snape turned his gaze on her. He did look concerned now, but not that awful, compassionate, embracing promise that she'd seen briefly in his eyes last night... just a concerned teacher, looking at his pupil.

"If there is anything that you need from me tonight, you shall have it. If you want my comfort regarding last night's events, I will offer it."

She stared at him. Was this a trick? No, he was sincere. But she knew that only one answer would serve her cause.

"I want you discuss it with me and help me understand it. I don't want your comfort," she replied, trying not to sound bitter, just matter-of-fact.

Snape nodded, looking at her speculatively. "Then tell me what you've deduced."

Staring into her tea, the tired girl took a deep breath. "You hurt me like that just to set me up for wanting your comfort. Had I felt like there was anywhere else to go, anyone else to turn to, or any way to end it, I would have just hated you. But you set me up so that you were the only one who could offer comfort, and the only one who could put an end to my pain. Then you hurt me for so bad, and so long, that I would have forgiven you and come to your arms as long as it meant an end to the ordeal. Oh, I would have been conflicted... parts of me would have still hated you. For a while."

"For a while?" he echoed softly.

"Of course, Professor. For, if you were really clever, you would have done it again. And again. And each time that I abandoned my pride, my sense of self, to accept comfort and relief from my abuser, I would have given up a little bit more of myself. And been a little more yours. It's like the dog that unquestioningly loves the owner who kicks him."

"Hmm," he agreed thoughtfully. "Yes, an apt description." He went back to staring into the fire.

"Did you use magic on me?"

A tiny smile tugged tiredly at the corners of his harsh mouth. "Less than one might think. A nudge here, a nudge there." He looked at her again. "You're concerned about how easy it seemed for me to manipulate you like that."

"I want to think... I don't know," she stumbled. "I want to think that I would just hate someone for doing what you did. I do hate you... now. But last night I wanted your consolation and tenderness."

She'd wondered if he would react to her statement about hating him, but he didn't even blink. "You were a very easy mark, Miss Granger. You have practically no experience, and your head was still spinning from the little bit of experience you did have. As you say, I set you up. Better I than Malfoy."

She nodded thoughtfully, considering all the implications. "Do you think that this is how he'll try to handle me?"

"It's his very favorite trick, so I thought I'd best insulate you against it first. So what will you need to do?"

Hermione studied the mug in her hands. It was dark green, with a rim of silver, but she barely noted the Slytherin colors. "I'll need to seem terrorized, and yet not actually be terrorized. Afterwards, to seem clingy and needy, but not to actually be clingy or needy."

"Do you actually think that you can experience what you did last night without being traumatized?" he asked, an edge of a challenge to his velvety tones.

Hermione lifted her chin and stared at him. "I just did," she stated flatly.

Snape stared back, then raised an eyebrow. "Bravo, Miss Granger, bravo," he said, very, very softly, real admiration in his voice.

She didn't look pleased or disgruntled at his praise. "Tell me more of what I need to know."

* * *

Severus Snape sat staring into the flames long after Hermione Granger left his chambers.

He'd thought that she would master his harshest lesson, but it was still a terrible thing to watch. He remembered how she'd looked yesterday at lunch as she sat between Potter and Weasley... slightly flushed, eyes flashing, energized. A newly-awakening woman, excited by the sexual possibilities of her own body. She'd been quite beautiful, he reflected sadly. And tonight... tonight she'd looked weary, hurt, betrayed. Yet defiantly unbroken. He'd done that to her. Both changes, lightning fast, girl to woman, woman to wounded, in two days time.

Her inner strength was formidable. Yet he would have to make her stronger still if she were to survive Lucius Malfoy.

* * *

The lessons continued. They only had two weeks. Snape was casting Alertness charms each night, and both spent most of Saturday and Sunday sleeping. Hermione was doing the bare minimum on her schoolwork, but didn't have the energy to lament that fact.

Harry was worried... it'd gotten to the point where even Ron noticed her distracted state. The former confronted her with his suspicions that something was going on other than nightly liaisons with Thomas, and Hermione had thrown her arms around his neck and asked him to give her until after the vacation to explain. Her voice had been so desperate, so determined that he had agreed without even knowing why. But afterwards he'd asked if he could just sit with her a while... he couldn't explain it, but he felt like she needed it. To his surprise, she nodded gravely, then lay down and rested her head in his lap. A bit taken aback and unnerved, Harry had stroked her hair soothingly, and she'd closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.

Snape's lessons varied between nightmares and fantasies. Sometimes he abused and manipulated her horribly, other times he taught her skills of seduction. They tailored such skills carefully... she would need to always seem the guileless virgin. The strangest night were those, like the first, that he lay her down and pleasured her. It was clear that she needed to be in control of her body's own capacity for ecstasy, so he took her to its heights and then taught her both how to abandon herself and to resist its delights.

Who would have believed her, had she tried to explain the enthralling reaches of the Potions Masters erotic skills and knowledge, or the depth of his capacity for cruelty?

* * *

She couldn't believe that the holiday had come so fast. Her nerves were strung tight, but her self-control was improving every day. Harry stayed nearby as if concerned that she might need him, but always took care not to hover and annoy her.

Their last midnight. Tonight they would need to cast the Restoration spell.

She let herself into his chambers; for the first night since they'd begun she was relatively certain of what to expect. No lesson tonight, just some final preparations. From this point forward, for the next three weeks, she would swim... or she would sink and drown. She was adequately prepared or she was not.

Snape emerged from the bedchamber fully dressed, but without robes. She'd endured the most intimate violations at his hands; she'd taken his cock on her knees, on her back, and swallowed it deep into her throat; she'd bared her body and soul at his direction and accepted both torture and delight; but she'd never seen him less than fully dressed. She'd tried to ask about it once, but it was clear that she'd get no answer.

Hermione, for her part, wore her school robes, but when she dropped them there was nothing beneath but her shoes. These she also discarded. There was no self-consciousness now; he'd trained that out of her. She stood nude in front of her Potions Professor without concern.

Without a word he gestured her into the bedroom, where he'd laid out a pentacle on the floor. A low, broad altar stood in its center. Hermione looked to him for confirmation, then walked over to the far side of the alter. He joined her on its opposite side, and with a gesture of his wand, he lit the candles at the star's points. Had she not known better, she would have thought that his face betrayed a flicker of apprehension.

She looked back at him expectantly. She knew it would hurt. She was afraid. But she was determined. With both of them ensconced in the protective circle, she seated herself on the altar, then lay back, her knees raised and spread, her hands over her head.

The white rose. The purified water. The untilled earth. Then the bloodied blade; he made the sacrifice himself, gripping the edge tightly in his fist and dragging it through without even a grimace, though the tightness around his eyes belied some effort. Snape was sure in his motions as he eased the blade into the tight slit between Hermione's legs; she cried out but held herself still. She felt the sizzle of both of their magics as he cast the charm; then he removed the dagger buried in her womb and showed her its gleaming, blood-free edge.

She was a virgin again. Her body tingled.

She dressed and seated herself by the fire, smiling slightly while Snape fetched another of his mysterious potions. She never asked what each one specifically did, but always drank them without knowing as a sign of her trust. She imagined she'd imbibed a fair number of contraception and bruise-healing potions in the last two weeks.

He looked serious tonight; none of his usual snide commentary or sneering insults. It was a powerful spell they'd just cast, and she thought he must be tired.

"Professor Snape?"

He settled into his chair before the fire, not looking at her. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I only want to ask you one question tonight."

She cocked her head at him when he didn't answer immediately. Finally he responded. "Very well."

Hermione took a bit of a breath. "You asked me last night if I believed that I'm ready, and I said I did. But I want to know... do you believe I'm ready?

The silence stretched out, and Hermione became concerned that perhaps the answer was no. When his answer finally came, it surprised her.

"When I was your age, Miss Granger, I was very clever. And yet you, now, are more clever then even I was." Though there was some pride in his voice, there was also melancholy... as if he were sad at the necessity to train her to be so.

But she nodded, content. "Do we need to do anything else before I go? I'd like to get some sleep tonight."

Another pause... Snape was becoming downright taciturn. She waited. "There is... one more thing. I have a gift for you."

Hermione would have gaped, but had learned well the lesson of hiding it when she wasn't expecting something. "Really?" she said dryly, instead.

"Give me the pendant that I loaned you."

Hermione fished it out of her robes, its tiny silver charm glinting on the long, fine chain. Snape took it from her outstretched hand, then produced something similarly small and reflective from his own pockets. He manipulated the two somehow in his hands, then produced his wand and whispered a Conjunction charm over his hand.

He passed it back to her. Now, on the end of the long silver chain, a glinting red chip that looked like a ruby swung encased in the delicate silver filigree of a tiny ovoid cage.

She looked up to find Snape watching her intently. His eyes were hooded, his face impossible to read, but his tones were soft and filled with significance.

"Inside that cage is your virginal blood - your true virginal blood, from that first night," he amended. "The bars of the cage are protective, not restrictive. When you go to Malfoy, leave that pendant in a very safe place, a place that you trust in your heart is inviolate, and remember that it's there. It will afford you some measure of protection against any harm he might try to do you."

Hermione gazed at the tiny ruby, then at her professor. He had shifted his regard from her back to the flames, which cast the angular planes of his gaunt cheeks and deep-set eyes in an even more forbidding light than usual. He looked sorrowful and extremely unapproachable. His white cuffs laid precisely against his bony wrists; his elegant pale fingers were flexing absently on the arms of his chair, but other than that he did not stir.

Hermione unwrapped the long chain from around her hand and unfolded her legs from beneath her as she stood. She closed the distance between her and Snape, and he looked up at her wearily, opening his mouth to ask what she was doing.

She couldn't have lifted it over his head if they were both standing, but with him seated it was easy to slide the silver chain over Snape's head. He jerked as he realized what she was doing, then held perfectly still as she settled the chain around his neck. With steady fingers she slipped the charm itself past the collar of his shirt and let it fall inside the garment to rest on his bare chest. Then, slowly, she placed one hand over the small lump beneath his shirt.

She was looking him in the eye. His features were utterly neutral.

"A place that I trust in my heart is inviolate," she repeated softly.

Then she left, and Snape didn't move from the time that she turned until she was long out the door.

* * *

Severus Snape remembered the long days and restless, excited nights he had endured between receiving his letter from Hogwarts and boarding the train at Platform 9¾.

He remembered an endless week between the time that he had found the courage to ask Lily Evans to accompany him to the Yule Ball, and that fateful night itself.

He remembered nearly a month of nauseating, breathless fear and anticipation between finding out that Voldemort would accept him as an acolyte and feeling the indescribable, intolerable, burning ecstasy of the Mark being branded into his flesh.

He remembered several hours of sitting, straight-backed and silent, in Albus Dumbledore's office, his story already told, and only self-loathing to keep him company as he waited to find out what punishment, what particular death was in store for him.

He remembered a particularly heart-pounding few minutes after Voldemort had accused him of betrayal and before the manipulative bastard relented and pronounced Snape among his most trusted of supporters. That had been a tricky game to play.

Severus Snape was not a stranger to biding his time in wait. But the fact that he was good at it didn't make a single moment of those three weeks any less excrutiating.

* * *

"Mr. Malfoy..." breathlessly.

"Vast knowledge that can only be entrusted to those that have demonstrated their commitment to scholarship and greatness above petty material concerns..."

"...anything to know the things they won't teach us, there..."

"...and after all, isn't flesh just material? But you must prove your devotion..."

"That hurts!"

"Don't ask questions to which you're not prepared to hear the answers!"

"That was..." a gasp, a twitch. "I didn't know it would be like that."

The heat of sweat and cum. The torment of orgasm at murderous hands. The snap of bone. Taste of her own marrow.

She'd underestimated. Snape hadn't prepared her enough. She wasn't going to survive this.

...but she knew that he cradled her intact innocence next to his body, away from this bloody nightmare...

"Down, mudblood, down on the floor!"

She cried. The tears fell freely. She told herself that it was only because she meant them to.

She hadn't known a body could take such damage and still be healed. No spell made her throat feel less raw though. She was screaming too much.

She had known a body could endure such ecstasy. Snape had fully prepared her for that, at least.

"...darling girl, come here, come to me..."

"...please don't hurt me anymore. Please." Silence, soothing. "No, please, not that either..."

"I'm doing this to help you. You mind must be stronger than the petty demands of your flesh!"

"Merlin, I think... Lucius, are you telling me that I--that I love you?"

"You learn so fast, my precious mudblood. Here's a new lesson..."

"...I want to go home. I don't want to ever leave you..."

* * *

 

Albus Dumbledore himself met Hermione Granger at the front gates of Hogwarts. He led her inside, up to his office. She had no words, so he escorted her in silence. She settled into one of his chairs, and for once, he didn't bother to offer a distressed student something hot to drink. Chocolate certainly couldn't change the things she'd seen and endured.

"What do you need, Hermione?"

She stared at him with flat eyes. "Just to tell. Just to tell you what I've learned. So that it wasn't in vain..."

The days when Dumbledore actually hated his job were few and far between. The benevolent power that he wielded to protect and guide the children of the wizarding community suited him as well as his half-moon spectacles. But today, looking at the child that he'd sent out to rape and torture at the hands of the most powerful Death Eater in exchange for breadcrumbs of information... today, he hated his job.

"Severus should hear this too."

Snape had come quickly, and when he entered the room his eyes did not fly to Hermione, full of concern. No, he looked calm, centered, implacable. But a fine silver chain glinted beneath the collar of his robes.

Her voice was as expressionless as her eyes as she began.

"He said that Voldemort would be ready to move soon. But I overhead..."

* * *

He hadn't told her to come. But at midnight, he heard the door of his receiving room close gently.

He exhaled in relief.

"Miss Granger," he said in acknowledgment, looking up from the stack of parchments that he was grading and setting down his quill carefully. She looked wan but undefeated as she stared at him.

"I did it," she told him plainly.

Snape folded his hands before him and raised one eyebrow. "Indeed you did, Miss Granger." He considered a few elaborations with which he might follow that up, and then decided to let her set the tone.

"It was worth it," she continued, sitting down. "I never dreamed that it would be so terrible, and yet, it was still worth it."

The Potions Master closed his eyes very briefly in relief. No, Lucius Malfoy had not found a way to break her, whatever he thought. She was battered and bruised - as she had been in the weeks before, under Snape's own tutelage - but she was certainly not broken. "Do you want to discuss it?"

Hermione chewed on her lower lip, studying the nails of one hand as if examining her manicure for flaws, except that her nails were not manicured. "I don't think so," she said finally. "Not now."

As an afterthought, Snape gestured a fire to life in the previously-cold hearth. It sprang up noisily in the still chamber, logs snapping and tinder popping, its sudden cheeriness at odds with the somber mood in the room. Hermione started a bit, then gave Snape a half-smile. "Thanks."

He nodded infinitesimally in acknowledgment, considered asking what she was looking for, and decided instead to again wait.

She looked up, suddenly, directly at him. "I need the stink of him off my body," she told her Potions professor.

This was certainly not the stammering bookworm who'd come to him, tripping over her own implications, less than two months ago. "If I understand you correctly, Miss Granger--"

"You understand me," she interrupted flatly.

Snape's expression was softened by the ghost of a smile. "Miss Granger, all that has passed between us was in an academic context. This would... this would not be. I'm sorry, but I cannot do what you want simply because you want it."

"Then do it because you want it," she challenged hoarsely.

Snape caught his breath. She was insinuating... "Although I have no wish to be less than gentle with you in the aftermath of your recent trials," he began, quite softly, "I feel that I must point out to you that you don't know what I want." The last six words were delivered slowly, precisely.

Hermione had suddenly flushed, and her eyes were flashing. "After all the time you spent teaching me what men wanted, you expect me to believe that Severus Snape is completely unlike other men?" she demanded hotly.

He gentled his tones again. "I also taught you that it's more complicated than that, Miss Granger."

"Yes, it is," she agreed. "And your desire for me is more complicated than that, too, I know."

Snape leaned back, studying his student in a new light. He only briefly considered the idea of refuting her accusation before deciding to let it stand. "And your desire for me?" he countered. "How complicated is that?"

He noticed how haggard she looked, but she was clearly determined to press on through this conversation. "Very complicated, Professor," she replied.

Stillness descended, and the tension took advantage of the moment to seep into both of them more deeply. They studied each other, now. Snape tilted his head. "Explain," he directed, shortly.

The corner of her mouth quirked upward, but bitterly. "How much of this attraction that I feel toward you is born merely of these unique and charged circumstances? I've been through so much lately; my entire world is in a sexually intense turmoil. It's impossible for me to sort out of this to what degree my feelings are elicited by you, and to what degree by the overwhelming transitions and awakenings that I've experienced. For, if this attraction is born more of circumstances than of its object, then it will fade away as these circumstances pass."

"And where would that leave me, Miss Granger?"

She stared at him, hating the answer to his question, but compelled to be honest. "Alone. Again."

He nodded at if that thought weren't very unpleasant at all. "Of course, I could always anticipate that scenario - that yours will be a fleeting attraction, born of illusion and circumstance - and simply reap its rewards while it lasts, letting it fade away without guilt or failed expectations when it passes."

"I don't care for that scenario," she whispered.

"Of course you don't... now," he said dismissively. "You'd be glad to remember that thus were my expectations when they came to pass."

Hermione shuddered. "You'd scoff at me if I tried to make you a promise that I'll continue to feel this way."

Snape gave her a small smile. "Yes, I certainly would."

She looked at him for a long moment, watching his alert but weary eyes watching her. Her mind was churning, but coming to no conclusions that she liked. Finally, she gave a helpless half-shrug. "What do I do?" she asked in a small voice.

At that, Snape came out of his chair, rounded his desk to her side, and pulled her up. "Let's start by getting you a long bath," he said. "And then..." his lips again curved subtly, "...and then I will keep you here with me tonight. No tests, Miss Granger, no lessons, and no second-guessing needed on your part. You've accomplished your mission, and for tonight, I'm just going to take care of you. No sex, though. That's not really what you need."

Snape began leading her to his bathroom, and she followed compliantly. "What about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, you get to go back to being Hermione Granger, smartest girl in her class. A different Hermione Granger than before, perhaps, but still, Hermione Granger."

"And you?"

"Your Potions Master," he said simply. "There's no need for further instruction."

Hermione felt something hard and bruised twist in her chest. "But--"

"But," he interrupted. "But. Don't worry about it, Miss Granger. If time passes and you find that your feelings don't fade, then perhaps it will be time for us to negotiate a new... ah, arrangement. Certainly not now, though, girl. Certainly not now."

Some small part of her was hurt that Snape refused to acknowledge her feelings were as immutable and eternal as her heart currently insisted, but she had to admit that he might be right about tonight not being the time to talk about it. He was drawing her a bath, and she made no further objection as he turned and divested her of her comfortable clothes with swift, practiced motions. She almost giggled as he unexpectedly swept her into his arms and deposited her in the tub, but suddenly found that she was too weary for even that.

Their eyes met through the steam, and Hermione wondered if she currently looked as worn, battered, and bruised as he did to her. But there was a wary, well-defended tenderness there as well, she was sure. It was too fragile to bring out for examination, but she thought it was there. After these last three weeks, Hermione thought that she understood the ghostly expressions of pain on Snape's face in his rare unguarded moment more than she had ever wished for.

He gravely handed her the soap, which she held onto but did not use, as he obtained for himself a palmful of shampoo and gently began to work it into her mass of curls.

Hermione closed her eyes.

"Okay," she finally agreed. "Not now."

* * *

He had escorted her to the door. "And this," he said, reaching beneath his shirt, "belongs to you."

Hermione smiled softly and placed her hand over the small lump on his chest beneath his shirt, wrapped her fingers around it through the fine fabric and resisted his tug.

"Oh, no," she said. "Perhaps I'll want it back, someday. Maybe soon. But..." and again she met her professor's hooded eyes, let the significance of her words slide home. She would leave without lingering, but first she told him: "Not now."


End file.
